Wrath of the Righteous

"It is better to re-enter hell and become an angel, than to remain in heaven and become a demon."

...with a special bonus added...

The team took only a few moments to explore the 2nd-floor landing and hall, discovering a few more rooms of mild interest, a great deal more fecal matter, and a library with some nasty foes inside. Squeezing into the small room and up against the stacks, the heroes made quick work of the scum there, and then found another chamber, a large scrying room full of animated corpses.

Sturn, incensed by the wanton desecration of his deity’s temple, rushed head-long in, shouting at every move, doing his best to inspire the others to follow him into battle. The team, now well-accustomed to each other, worked smoothly and dispatched the undead there before heading up to the third floor in search of the wardstone.

At the top of the stairs they found another small chamber, hemming in their ability to move and fight from all directions…and a large mutant minotaur beastie that bum-rushed them, preventing easy access into and maneuvering throughout the room. Braving the inevitable attacks, Gnarl brushed past the great beast, absorbing punishing blows as he cleared space for the others to attack. Jaroo dropped his dinosaur guise in favor of his actual form, and pressed the attack, while the others used sword and spell – and maybe a hammer or two – to beat the massive creature to the ground, splitting its skull against the hardwood floor. One door led from this chamber, and on the other side Sturn detected great evil – the wardstone was close at hand!
Through the door the team rushed, bracing for what they believed would be their final, and likely most deadly, fight. The room on the other side presented the wardstone, locked in an iron cage, and a demon-woman-caster-somebody working through the twisted syllables of what could only be a foul ritual or spell. Wasting no time for a monologue, the five heroes ran forward: the dwarfs and Jaroo toward the woman, while Atiasi stayed back to cast a spell, and Sturn, drawing the Rod of Cancellation, made directly for the wardstone.

The demon-kind’s spell was interrupted as the melee ensued, and yet it was Sturn striking at the wardstone that turned the tide, with the stone exploding in a brilliant, celestial light, blasting to foul little pieces the woman, and stopping time around the team for a split-second as the force of heavenly power enveloped and penetrated them, imbuing them with a unearthly vitality.

Moments later – really, they could not tell how much time had passed – a shimmering image of another demon-woman appeared before them, but her spells and lame monologue had no effect on them, leaving her irritated when she was unable to incinerate them. Instead, she summoned several babau demons to do her work for her. They, in turn, took a look at the five fine examples of badassity in the room, and the cat, and summoned some more of their friends just to be sure.

Despite their brutal, well-coordinated attacks and the massive amounts of damage they doled out, they were unable to gain the initiative in the fight…even after severing Gnarl’s spine, cutting off his hand, and gouging one of his eyes out….even after ganging up on Sturn (clearly, recognizing the real threat in the room). One by one, then in groups, they were defeated and destroyed.
Standing in the ruined chamber, its stone walls blasted almost smooth from the massive release of divine energies – fell and good – the five heroes and Toonces were greeted by a manifestation of the goddess Iomedae herself, who addressed them personally and by name, thanking them for their great deeds and courage, and exhorting them to continue their fight to contain and eventually roll back the hordes of demons from the Worldwound.

The vision of Sturn’s youth was fulfilled in this moment as his divine patron confirmed him as one of her champions, and accepted his service as worthy. As she faded from sight she gazed directly at him, as if to take full stock of him as her knight…and winked. She winked at him!

Silence was all that was left after she was gone, and the five knew there was nothing they could add to what had happened, what they’d been asked to do, what they did, and what it all meant. And yet, seized by the moment, Sturn looked at his friends – the men alongside whom he knew he would face Hell’s fury – and had a thought.

“Who’s ready to accept Iomedae and her wisdom?” he asked. Suddenly getting their wits about themselves the dwarven brothers scoffed, each muttering something about how “…a woman without a beard was no woman at all…”, while Atiasi busied himself with brushing ashes off his robes and awkwardly whistling to himself. Jaroo, on the other hand, being a relatively transparent and practical fellow, nodded.

"...cleanin' up the town, oh yeah...."

The team moved swiftly through the shattered city toward the temple, now defiled and acting as the demonic head-shed. Gnarl and Sturn cased the massive front doors, spying two bloated demon-spawn standing guard there. Sadly, both were the distorted shells of two former men of the city, one of whom had been the mayor. Sturn muttered something to himself about freeing what was left of them, and then the rushed the front door.

A short melee ensued, resulting in both demi-scum being destroyed and the doors breached. Into the lobby the team poured, confronted by a desecrated temple in full fecal bloom, followed quickly by a confrontation with another group, this time eight cultists, eager to prove their worth to their demonic lords by killing more crusaders.

Wrong idea, guys – the varsity team had arrived.

Although they took damage, the righteous invaders struck down all of the vile adepts, providing them with the chance to meet their true masters probably a lot earlier than they’d expected. ‘…probably not as grand as they’d hoped…’ Sturn thought grimly to himself, marveling at the stupidity and craven evil that so many chose.
The team moved into another room, encountering this time actual demons, and filled the chamber with their wrath, bum-rushing the book-gobbling wanna-be puppeteers. These fights were swift and deadly, and although the crusaders never doubted the outcome, they still took considerable damage as each new fight ensued. Both Jaroo and Utenar required healing, and even Sturn made use of his ability to mend injuries, on himself and others. And yet, they had to press on – there was no other option at this point.

Into a long worship chamber they moved, despite being the victims of several hurled fire bombs. This is where they felt the pain the most on the ground level, although all enemies were destroyed eventually. More healing and regrouping followed, along with the discovery of a powerful magic sword that had once belonged to one of their allies. And then…up the stairs!

For once, in a seemingly unbroken line of adventures, quests, and journeys, a team of stalwarts discovered a set of stairs that went….up. Strange…disconcerting…clearly the work of sinister hands….and yet definitely up. And so up they went.

Up they went, and into a hall packed with waiting cultists and other foes – 12 of them in all! The team’s speed and ferocity surprised these enemies, enabling the heroes to move quickly among them in order to begin the work of cutting them to pieces. And cut them to pieces they did, even with the addition of a 13th foe, a mutant dog-elk-mosquito-wildebeast craft project that burst forth from a side chamber, barking, bleating, buzzing and roaring its way down the wide hall.

The heroes cut and thrust and parried, much like at their fencing master’s call in days of old, and the training held true, leaving heaps of body parts and gore layered above the ever-present smears of excrement.

Breathe…center…focus…heal….and then onward! The team was all eyes outward, scanning the doors within the hall, checking for magical and evil auras behind all of them, and listening for any signs, as well.

Cold slowly filled the once beating heart. If ears could hear, several men stood apart arguing the fate of another. The slain knight would feel all these memories silently leaving. What was once moments before but a vain last attempt to thwart the demon hoard. He had known her since they were children chasing hoops with sticks. Their laughter was a bright sound to the freshly minted crusaders returning from their first incursion into the Worldwound. He remembered the sight of wounded warriors and their crimson dressings. How she held his hand as they stopped their laughter for a moment. She tightened her grip as she pleaded to be away from this place. He promised to take her away that day. It was only years later before he was able to keep that promise.

She had been hiding where her family said they would be. He knew it was a safe and would be the last place left in New Kenabres that civilians could hide out so long. His group had been pushed from the switchback of Old Kenabres, of the company of sixty only a tenth remained. An Ulkreth had led the charge against their command. It stood a monster of rippled muscle stone, cooked steel riddled between its fingers. Four hands made for distruction. The demon’s presense made half the line break as the earth began to bow beneath the behemoth. At five men tall, it walked through the line of fortifications with easy; the crush of men beneath and between its grasp meant little as it smashed, packed, and hurled the armoured bodies into and through the stone walls. How could they stand against this where swords did nothing and ballisata only made it furious. They needed something more if the gods would do nothing.

After breaking the old man’s leg and tying up the mother, he took his childhood friend by force. His grip no longer held willingly, she pleaded for release and for him to leave, as he had done once before to the crusades. He had seen to much to stop now. If the city was to be saved, they needed the gods to know. “Here,” his sergeant shouted, “this shrine will do.” She was placed on the alter before Sarenae. She knelt, she wept. He felt his duty to take her away form this place. Perhaps the lore of old, sheathing their weapons with virgin blood, would help. It could be just that, a myth, but was was the use if they would all be dead soon. He prepared himself, “Your sacrafice aids the cause of good.”

It was not as he thought. The strangers came form nowhere and fast. He had taken a few steps before the world went black. He now only felt Pharasma’s spiral unwind his life and it’s memories. He could not save her, he could not save himself. At least dying like this meant he would be away from this crusade once and for all.

The insurgency of the cultist must have been active for some time. Their efforts seem to have pushed the defenders to the gate district, away from the Kite, home of the wardstone. The dull drone no longer sings as it once did which brings a question as to where it is. There seems to be evidence of cultist patrols inside the Ring District and New Kenabres. Without looting or other signs of anarchy, they seem to be waiting for something. Survivors caught here seem to be left to desecration and dismemberment by lesser demons. The last safe house for the cultist, the Tower of Esterod, hopefully shines insight into the demon lord’s end game.

The day was dark. A combination of ruin smoke and the abyssal weather of the world wound made it difficult to determine if it was dawn or dusk. The group paused, to remove the filth from their blades, patch wounds, and meditate on their next action. The rest was well. Surveying the surroundings, they were in the southern gate district although it no longer looked the same. A large rift split the neighborhood in half. Signs of visceral carnage littered the street in crimson and fleshy tones. Personal objects littering the ground told stories of rushed judgments, often fatal. The alleyway they found themselves in provided a defensible position but staying long was not an option. Over the course of the next several hours, screams of horror punctuated the otherwise dull moan of the damaged wardstone. The occasional crash of burning builds, distant clash of battle, and odd explosion kept the watch on edge.

A scampering behind the barricade alerted the flame touched nostrils of the drawf. The party made ready, drawing weapons in stealth. The sorcerer held back to protect their cohort. Rushed with adrenalin, Gnarl pushed forward at the approaching figure demanding attention. The parched knight tried to explain, holding fast to his sword, prepared to fight if necessary. Recent revelation of insurgency placed suspicion on the knight from the group and likewise, the chaos of the past two days had placed the paladin on edge. It was only after they sheathed their weapons when they were attacked by a Howler. Leaping from the roof, it sunk into the new found paladin. The group quickly mustered surrounding the beast. A howl let loose that caused the injured to cringe in pain, right before the adventures split the beast open and dead. The site dishearten the group; children toys littered the belly contents of the beast.

The group made haste out of the alley to the closes destination, the Black Wing. Upon arrival, the avenue had been somewhat untouched by the destruction surrounding but the library itself stood only in the shadow of its former self. With exception to the great hall, the building was torn asunder. The sound of orders could be heard within as they approached the large doors. The madness of a cavalier stood before them as four remnants of the Black Wing staff stood huddled behind a pile of books about to be lit by a fifth. The caviler took offence to the adventurers intrusion; battle immeadiately broke. The paladin and cavalier exchanged words and sword play, but it was the dwarf that took an ax to the madman. The drowning man plead forgiveness with each breathe drawing blood. As an act of mercy equal to the justice, the paladin read rites over the cavalier.

Aravashnail was greeted by the survivors, relived to see very well what may be the last of the Riftwardens. What was left of their home needed to be salvaged before any more harm could come to it. Aravashnail thanked the group for leading him home. Uncharacteristic for an elf, he fell weeping. The original attack was done by a man made of worms. The head librarian, Quednys, was not there at the time of the attack but was at Cydwell plaza. In parting, the wizard encourages the group to look for him and let him know what is left of Black Wing.

Horgus was relived to see his home intact, albiet, looted. He cursed at the help and guards abandoning post. He quickly found his vault intact, and handed the adventurers their reward. In rather short order, the merchant bid them good day and shut the vault. The party felt immediate relief and no love lost for the old man. Aniva though spoke up in defense. She did not profess to like Horgus in any manner for his attitude or front he portrayed but wanted the adventurers to know his contribution to the crusade. She could not tell before as she had secretly spied on Horgus in thoughts he was an instigator. What the world wound does not twist is left for the rest of us to continue it seems

The humble cottage did not befit the home of paladin stature, but there it was as the sky started to grow dark. Aniva wanted to rush in calling out Irabeth’s name but Gnarl stopped her until they could clear the house. The party entered cautiously and fanned out. The silence held concealed the danger. The walls seem to speak but it was disbelief. A fire beetle was summoned and slain. The evil presence moved in the room unseen. Gnarl felt the blade rip into him, the invisible attacker made himself known. It was a criminal from the river kingdoms come to exact revenge on Irabeth for his condemnation. His timing could not have been worst or more costly. Having proved solid thus far, Gnarl gripped the sword from Atiasi and handed Radiance to Stern. The sword immediately glowed in the hands of its new owner. Once cleared, Aniva rushed into the bedroom to uncover a secret cache just for this type of situation. Defender’s Heart, an inn not too far from the group, was where the garrison defense of Kenabres was being staged, where Irabeth would be.

META

Take time to explore your new surroundings inside the large spacious inn on the OP. You can buy/sell, seek services, gossip/talk, and so forth before the curfew. The leadership for the city defense will see you shortly once returned from patrol. Be mindful that the insurgency may still be active as listed in Hosilla’s orders.

Also fell free to color some of the events above to your character’s style. Figured you might be enjoying some honey rum.

The party was quick to dismantle the dark-mantles. No reward but the chattering laughter of one out of his gourd. Signs of what darkness, loneliness, lack of personal hygiene, and a disgust for all things sentient mixed with a single low level paranoid spell caster meant magical spoils for the adventurers. Somewhere between, “the mooner will fly!” and “watch for snakes”, everybody’s loathsome snake, Horgus, escaped. It was not long as his stumble in the dark deemed to much for the lecherous merchant, reluctant to comply. Anevia once more expressed her concern to return top side with everyone, including Horgus.

A tremor in the ground sent the press further into the dark. Their next encounter provided a tense moment. The mongrel-men stood their ground for a round as it was deliberated friend from foe. The group ended up assisting the new friends with saving a life (one of the few good things accomplished since their decent). The mongrel-men lead the group back to their tribe by taking an indirect route leading down a corridor with streaming walls of blood. The sign proved only to dim the hopes or increase urgency. Aravashnail was enthralled at the opportunity to document these morlocks although any word said came out as a slight more than inquisitiveness. The Enforcer put him in his place. After a skip across a ravine and a dull encounter with a spore, the group discovered something sinister with the supposed dead crusaders; they were secretly cultist. Pieces started to showing there was something more to the siege of the city.

Neathholm proved to be a collage of whatever trash and disused material could be cobbled together at the end of a underground cistern. The mongrel-men were equally bits of this and that. Their leader, a rat man of healthy proportions, welcomed them for saving one of their own. His aid was soon delivered as the adventurers explained their need to make it above ground. The chief was dourer at this news but knew it was time to defend what they had as a home. The party took rest, refuge and readied themselves for the morning.

The assault on the lair was all heart and no brain. No sooner had the party broke down the front door, they split up as each encounter drew them further into the complex. Nommed on by an oversized lizard, corrupted by sultry cultist, shot through with deadly arrows, nearly dead they regrouped, shot up, and headed once more unto the breach. The supposed leader, Hosilla, prepared for one last battle but not the dwarven cannon that was shot through the door. In small cyclones of destruction, the group eliminated the body guards only to have Hosilla vanish and apparently slip out. Never mind that, the magic of a locked strong box was no match for Anevia’s tools… the fifth time around. Their discovery of demon correspondence and a strange sword only complicated their mission once they reached above. A little fishing ensued followed by their first foul encounter with Dretches, the scum of demons. Still savage, cruel, and simply stupid, the demons summoned their spawn for reinforcements while emminating clouds and other demon tricks. Having quite enough, members of the party exercised extreme discretion in decorating the walls and fellow team members with vats of blood and demon entrails. Savagery behind them, the heroes step up into a new day in Kenabres. A great and dreadful day.

They were alive. Unsure how it was possible from the hundreds of feet they have fallen, that mattered little now in the black. The two dwarven brothers could see each other clearly through the shouts, cries, and coughing darkness. Five other survivors made it through the collapsing carnage. One of them, a mage, created the magical light for the group. A frontier looking woodsman also stood unscathed next to a rather startled and dusty, large cat.

There was a woman, Anevia, of the group with a leg injury beyond their current healing abilities. Her attempts at walking failed but the group was able to splint the leg The elf, Aravashnial, held severe burns and was blind but overall offered positive if somewhat confused leadership. The merchant, Horgus, was quick to ask aid from the adventures. It soon became apparent that although the adventurers did not know one another, they were all spared. The other three however, held a sense of animosity to one another that did not help. Some discussion later, the group determined to make it back to the surface and join whatever battle was raging above.

One of the dwarfs kept track of a looming image in the darkness, unsure if it was alive. As soon as the group was able, they set out of the cavern. Discovering the large mass to be the carcass of a giant spider, the group quickly squashed the vermin it was feeding. Further inspection of their surroundings revealed that their path out was a straight and narrow one. The injured slowed the group down and even simple terrain made travel treacherous. Horgus was quick to point this out at every opportunity. The sorcerer was quick to intimidate or the inquisitor performed his own “intimidation”. It only fostered more vitriol later from the merchant.

Snakes and crumbling caverns later, the group discovered a shrine to Torag in seemingly the most improbably place under ground. The only thing the shrine held was its former preist in the form of a Huecuva. Forgetting about the giant fly left outside, most of the group fought to destroy the beast. Meanwhile the fly roamed to and fro from the blind Aravash and the prestidigitated waste. Somewhere in the chaos, Horgus tried to leave the group once more only to have the druids pet hiss and snarl him back into compliance. One of the drawfs attempted to clean the shrine but failed to remember the rites needing to be performed.

Several hours later, and perhaps a mile of travel, the sorcerer felt brave enough to look into a small opening. His reward was almost met with a small face as a large arm reached back from the hole to grab the adventures. Several axe swings later, one of the drawfs struck the beast’s arm only to be rewarded with toxic nocuous blood. The group quickly made there way past the gasses and discovered a monument to those of the first crusade. Almost a dozen stoic statues stood inside the large cavern. While describing the first crusade, Aravash was interrupted with the movement of darkmantles on the ceiling. Confusing on what to do when the mantles grappled, the group slowly defeated their foe only to be greeted by a laughter in the following cavern…

For several weeks, excitement has been building in Kenabres—-Armase is coming! Traditionally an opportunity for scholars and priests to come together to study the lessons of history from wars past, since Aroden’s death, this holy day has become more about training commoners in weaponry, choosing squires, and ordaining new priests. Over time, Armasse has grown to encompass jousting competitions, mock duels, battle reenactments, and other festivial events. In Kenabres, the festival (which takes place on 16 Arodus) is eagerly anticipated, for it provides distractions from the horrors of being on the front line of the war. Smiles on faces normally marred by downcast eyes and furrowed brows do wonders for city morale in the weeks leading up to the event.

Armasse is a citywide celebration, but the majority of the event, including its jousting matches and other entertainments, takes place at Clydwell Plaza, just west of the cathedral. It is here that the campaign begins, with the adventurers in attendance near the cathedral’s façade—-you have been lucky enough to get good spots to observe the opening ceremonies at noon.

This is where the fifth crusade has its beginnings…

Meta You have all traveled some distance to join the crusade, or maybe you are returning home. You should have your highest starting gold (no rich parents please) to purchase your adventure gear before the campaign begins. There will be plenty of treasure to match the blood.